"Never heard tell o' them," muttered Sanders, deeply puzzled. "Guess
they was never in Mississippi in my time."

His accompanying gesture of perplexity caused the deacon to hasten his
exit. Tripping over the leg of a chair, he fell headlong into the
arms of the watchful Jackson, who received the deacon's blessing for
"uplifting the righteous in the hour of their fall."

Relieved at the departure of the witnesses, Sanders showed increased
aggressiveness. "To be sure, Senator, you were careful not to
personally promise me anything for my support at the election, as you
say," the leader sneered; "but you had Jim Stevens to make promises
for you, which was smooth, absolute an' artistic smooth--"

"Stop, sir!" Langdon furiously shouted. "You forget, sir, that your
insinuation is an insult to a man elected Senator from Mississippi, an
insult to my State and to my friend Senator Stevens, who I know would
make you no promises for me, for he had not my authority."

"Certainly you're a Senator, but what's a Senator, anyhow? I'll tell
you, Mr. Colonel Langdon, a Senator is a man who holds out for his own
pocket as much as us fellows that make him will stand for. When we
don't get our rightful share, he's through."

With a sudden start, as though to spring at Sanders' throat, Langdon,
with compressed lips and eyes blazing, grasped the edge of the
table with a grip that threatened to rend the polished boards. With
intensest effort he slowly regained control of himself. His fury had
actually weakened him. His knees shook, and he sank weakly into a
chair. When he finally spoke his voice was strained and laborious.